Mother's Love
by Dendraica
Summary: It's Mother's Day in Kuzco's kingdom and the poor boy is determined not to think about it. Tempers flare and doomsday devices explode when Kuzco's friends suggest he should honor at least one of the mother-figures in his life.


"Kuzco? Kuzco . . . . KUZCO!"

A ruler came down on the sleeping emperor's desk. With a yelp, the boy sat up straight. He blinked around at his snickering classmates, then down at the diminutive Mr. Moleguaco.

"You were sleeping in class again! While _I_ was talking!"

"Well, _that_ explains why I went to sleep," Kuzco said, stretching. Mr. Moleguaco glared at him until Kuzco stopped.

"As I was saying before your snores interrupted the class, today is Mother's Day and we will be writing an essay honoring that particular parent," Mr. Moleguaco continued. He looked at Kuzco and waited. Kuzco stared back and scratched behind his ear. "Well? Aren't you going to try to get out of it with some lamebrained excuse?"

"I don't have to."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, seeing as I have no mother, then there's nothing to write about so there will be no essay. Unless you want me to write an essay about nothing, in which case -" Kuzco brought out a blank sheet of parchment, wrote his name on the top and handed it to the teacher. "Done! Easiest assignment ever!"

Mr. Moleguaco groaned and put it back on Kuzco's desk. "Kuzco, you must at least have some memories of your mother you could write about."

"Nope." Kuzco leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. "Not a thing."

"A favorite color?"

"Don't know."

"A favorite flower?"

"Don't care," Kuzco said, a sharp edge to his usual carefree tone. He was still staring at the ceiling. Mr. Moleguaco paused.

"If it's difficult to talk about, I understand. Why don't you see me after class?"

Kuzco shrugged. Mr. Moleguaco turned to explain to the rest of the class the particulars of the assignment while Kuzco crossed his arms and began singing loudly in his head to drown it out.

* * *

Chica had been busy that morning, trying to get Chaca's hair in braids and trying to find Tipo's left sandal. Yupi sat in the high chair, wailing over the food he had knocked off his little table.

Kuzco had eaten breakfast in silence, watching and as usual not offering to help. However, he _had_ put his own dishes in the sink and anything else he could think of to delay leaving for school. Chica had found Tipo's sandal under the table and reached for it, unfortunately while still holding on to Chaca's hair. She yowled and began to cry and Chica bent over, kissing her head and apologizing.

In a matter of minutes, Chaca was once again her overly chipper self and crawled under the table for Tipo's shoe while Chica started cleaning up Yupi's mess. Kuzco gave up and left without a word.

He spent the walk alone, trying not to let the pressure behind his eyes turn into anything embarrassing. He didn't know why he should care anyway, he was an Emperor and Emperors hardly needed mothers - at least they weren't supposed to. The fact he wasn't Emperor _yet_ was a mere technicality.

He'd felt a little better when he got to school, until Moleguaco had brought up that stupid essay. Mother's Day was a dumb idea. Everyone should do nice things for their Mothers anyway, and whenever they wanted to. Why did they have to wait until this day, when a person was going crazy trying to get a nice gift at the same time as everyone else? It was silly.

Maybe when he was Emperor he'd get rid of it. Father's Day was really kind of dumb too, especially since he never knew what to get for . . . Oh _hell_, he just wanted to go home, go to bed and pretend this wasn't happening!

"So, what about Chica?" someone who was a Hot-Hot-Hottie said to his left. Kuzco brought his head up sharply and saw Malina. Had the talk with Moleguaco gone by so quickly? Or had he just left with the rest of the class? This was bothering him more than it should be if he was intermonologuing this much.

"What _about _her?" Kuzco asked, flatly.

"Um, hello, Mother's Day?"

"Yeah, and she's a Mother. So?"

Malina sighed. "Kuzco, you heard Mr. Moleguaco. You have to do the essay about someone, and he said you could write about someone who was _like_ a mother."

"He said that?"

"Wow, you must've zoned out good. You also missed him jumping up and down and threatening detention for ignoring his questions, didn't you?"

"Crap." Kuzco approached his locker and thunked his head against it, miserable. Malina improved it marginally by putting her hand on his back. Mmm. Physical contact with Ms. Hottie-hot-hottie. Why wasn't he as thrilled as he should be?

"Kuzco, a lot of people don't have mothers. You're not the only one," she said gently. "I'll help you work on the essay. I'm sure Chica will be happy you're writing about her. You could get her a gift too," Malina added slyly, with an extra helping of Hint-Hint.

"Chica's got three kids. She'll get at least two gifts and a spilled bowl of banana mash, so I think she's fine on the gifty things," Kuzco muttered. His head was still against the locker. Heheh. He was going to have a funny-looking forehead.

"It's not how many gifts she gets that matters! She's just as much a mother to you as Pacha is like a father. She'd be touched if you got her something."

"And my real mother, who's dead, will get nothing but an extra layer of dust on her tomb," Kuzco snapped. "That seems fair." Malina pulled her hand back.

"Kuzco, you're really not okay with this holiday, are you?" she asked softly.

And there was the pressure behind his eyes again. Kuzco clenched his fists. He was _not _going to start crying, and he was certainly not doing it in front of Malina.

"Chica was busy being a mother to her _real _kids so I figured she didn't need me to say anything. She probably would've just scolded me for something if I had. Like '_Why aren't you doing the dishes like I asked_,' or '_Get your feet off the table, this isn't your throne room!_'" Kuzco mimicked. He thunked his head against the locker again. "She isn't my real mother. No gifty-gift for her," he said thickly.

"Kuzco, I'm sure Chica won't scold you for wishing her Happy Mother's Day," Malina pleaded.

Kuzco bit his lip. Why did Malina have to go and be so nice to him? It was making everything harder.

"Or you could give something to Yzma. She practically raised you, right sir?" Guaca put in, from his right. Kuzco blinked, and the horror of that suggestion did the trick of wiping away all traces of his impending tears. Thank the Sun God.

"Give something to _Yzma_?" Malina voiced, sounding scandalized. "The woman who's been trying to KILL Kuzco all YEAR?"

Guaca seemed to shrink into himself like a tortoise. "It was just a suggestion! Yzma's the closest thing Kuzco has to a mother anyway! And she doesn't have any other kids to get in Kuzco's way. Plus I'm sure she'd be awfully lonely on a day like this."

Malina paused in her argument, and looked thoughtful. "I suppose . . ."

"Come on, sir. What've you got to lose?" Guaca asked, grinning. Kuzco looked at him a moment.

"Maybe you're right. I'll give it a shot. I know she says she hates me, and she's old and stuff, but maybe she's just extra lonely. Like you said," Kuzco muttered. He smiled a little. "I'll just butter her up a little and maybe she'll be so grateful she'll even drop the whole 'Let's get rid of Kuzco' thing."

"Kuzco, are you sure?" Malina asked. She didn't have a good feeling about this.

"Course I am, Malina. After all, nobody can hate me forever." Kuzco moved away from the locker and began walking down the hall, a slight spring in his step. Once he was out of earshot, Malina turned to Guaca and made a fist.

"If she hurts him, I'm gonna make you wish you never HEARD the name Kuzco!" she hissed. Malina followed Kuzco, and a nervously gulping Guaca ran after.

* * *

"And then I topped that off with a seven layer chocolate bean cake, with little teddy bears drawn in the frosting," Kronk was saying.

"Needlenose pliers!" Yzma replied, holding her hand out for the tool. He handed it to her cheerfully and she disappeared back under the hood of the Destructo-Mobile.

She was black up to her eyebrows due to an unfortunate misreading of the small print in the owner's manual that directed her not to use diesel instead of high octane fuel. Well, she was only being frugal - with what fuel prices were today!

Fortunately the Destructo-Mobile was repairable. This had already put her behind schedule by twenty minutes and she couldn't wait to go out and run Kuzco down like the pest he was.

"So what did _you_ do for your mother, Yzma?"

"Huh? What? Oh, I sent her a HutMark card. Same as always. But this time I made sure to enclose the receipt so she can trade it for a card she likes. Just in case." Yzma hadn't forgotten the fiasco of last year.

"Ah, Hutmark. They always know what to say," Kronk said fondly.

"Uh-huh. Monkey wrench!" Yzma thrust out her hand again.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask, why do they call it a monkey wrench if everytime I go out and buy one, they always forget to put the gosh-darned monkey in with it? I tell you, some business are just plain shady," Kronk handed her the tool. "Oh, hey there, Kuzco, Malina, Guaca! What brings you to the Secret Lab?"

"WHAT?" Yzma sat up and woefully forgot what she was under. She yowled and clutched her aching head, crawling out from under the doomsday vehicle.

"Uhh, hey, Yzma! My main, old, wrinkled . . . woman thing." Kuzco supplied, walking out from the group. Still holding her head and grumbling, Yzma got up and walked over to him.

"Congratulations on finding our lab, AGAIN." Yzma gave Kronk a look of pure hatred before turning back to Kuzco. "Now whaddya want? Make it quick, I've got a gas tank and several wires to replace."

Kuzco looked nervous. Yzma didn't like that - it wasn't one of Kuzco's usual demeanors and she hated surprises. He swallowed and glanced back at Malina and Guaca, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

"Out with it!" Yzma barked.

"Uh . . . well, I know you've been a little mad at me for . . . oh, maybe a year? Mad enough to try and destroy me every day. Every other day, at least. It's um, a certain holiday today, and I thought maybe . . . " Kuzco trailed off, looking painfully awkward.

Yzma had a flashback of when he was five and had broken something of hers and she had been trying to weasle out a confession. Not that she could have done anything to discipline him, but she could at least get him to admit it.

"I w-wanted to wish you a Happy M-Mother's Day. Cause you did raise me. Practically," Kuzco defended, looking behind him again helplessly. He had never been so awkward in his life. He'd always been Kuzco, King of the Smooth, and now he was like King of the St-St-Stutterers. Guaca nodded encouragement and Kuzco looked back at Yzma, who was staring at him in shock.

"I - uh - what?"

"Mother's Day, Yzma," Kuzco repeated, sounding genuinely vulnerable. He coughed in an attempt to smooth his voice out. "I . . . want us to have one. Can't we bury the hatchet for one day?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Is this a trick?"

"No! No trick! Why would I trick you?" Kuzco asked, looking wounded.

"Where's my gift then?"

Kuzco flinched. "I owe you?" he offered, sheepishly.

"Why am I not surprised," Yzma said flatly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to work making a doomsday device that will mow you down like the impertinent weed you are." She began to march back to the vehicle.

Kuzco made a desperate noise and grabbed her hand and she spun around, indignantly. "Yzma, come on! You can't hate me this much! You didn't used to at least."

"Things change, Kuzco," Yzma growled, trying to pull her hand back. "So do people! And in case you're wondering, I changed when you fired me!"

"I fired you as my advisor, not as my . . ." Kuzco gulped. "My family."

Yzma's eyes softened. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Kuzco said, his hold on her hand tightening. "I never wanted you to hate me. And I'm tired of taking part of stupid holidays like this with people I don't really belong to. Not that I wouldn't _rather _have Pacha and Chica as parents, but they've got kids of their own and . . . Yzma, please? You're the only choice I've got."

Somewhere behind him, Malina stopped making frantic cut motions and smacked her forehead. Kuzco had said the wrong thing, as was evidenced by Yzma going from surprised to glowering.

"Oh, so I'm your only choice? How sweet. Well, in that case . . . forget it!" She yanked her hand away and stomped back to the car. Kuzco gaped and went after her.

"Wait! Yzma, I have to still at least mean _something_ to you - you raised me! You took care of me!" he pleaded.

"And you've been directly in my way to the throne ever since!" Yzma snapped. She started to pull herself under the hood again, but Kuzco prevented her.

"I know you want the throne! You've always wanted it, but all I want from you is one day! One day when I can have a Mother, and all you have to do is accept a gift from me and not try to kill me! Just one day!"

"Here's a thought. Hire someone else to pretend they care!" Yzma said, walking around him. Kuzco again moved in front of her, crossing his arms.

"I . . . I want it to be you. You raised me!" he said stubbornly, as if that should matter above everything else. Yzma gave a growl, losing her temper.

"And for what?! For years I could have squashed you like a bug, and if I knew how much of a pest you'd turn into, I would have!" Yzma raged, smacking the car with her fist. She turned away, shaking the pain out of it. Kuzco gasped and backed away. "Then _I _would have been Empress by now, and _you_ would have been history! Now get out of my secret lab, before I . . ."

Yzma trailed off her rant, taking in Kuzco's heartbroken expression and the tears that were escaping unchecked. Kuzco bowed his head, trying to keep the rest back. She had _always_ hated him? Always wanted him out of her way?

He tried to speak and what came out was a low sob. Kuzco clapped his hands over his face and ran from her, past Malina and Guaca.

"Oh . . . your Highness, I'm sorry," Guaca called after him, plaintively.

Yzma watched as Malina glared briefly at Guaca, who had tears streaming down his own face. Both hurried after Kuzco.

"Well," she said. "I guess that's that. Back to work! Screwdriver," she ordered, holding out her hand. When no tool came forth, she turned her head to see Kronk standing with his back to her, chin lifted high. "Kronk?"

"That. Was. COLD," her assistant said, refusing to look at her.

"Wha-Wha-? Kronk, we are sorta kinda trying to DESTROY HIM!?"

"That didn't mean you had to go and hurt his feelings like that! Especially not on Mother's Day! The poor little guy . . ." Kronk blew his nose on his hankerchief.

"Oh for the love of . . . so WHAT if his feelings get hurt? By the end of today, we're going to run him over!"

"So now you're just gonna get in that car and end his misery, is that how we fix all our problems?! Well, not today!" Kronk ranted. He marched toward Yzma who backed up hurriedly. "You're gonna talk to Kuzco and say you're sorry and that you'd be happy to clear out your schedule to spend _one lousy day with him!_"

"I - I - but - what?"

"And you're not setting one foot into this lab until you do!" Kronk yelled. He had managed to back Yzma out into the corridor outside the secret lab. "Is that clear!?"

"Yes - but - well, I -" Yzma tried to say, but the door slammed in her face. She blinked at it for a second then her face grew red as she realized she'd been kicked out of her own laboratory.

"KROOOOOOONK!" She yelled, hammering at the door. "You let me in this INSTANT!"

* * *

Kuzco had not stopped running since he'd left Yzma's lab. He'd outdistanced Guaca and Malina easily, ignoring their cries for him to stop. Kuzco was glad he knew where he was going because his vision was all blurry and there was wet stuff on his face - it must be rain, because he was inot/i crying - Emperors did not cry!

He heard Chica in the kitchen and ran past, down to the basement room and grabbed his Wompy. Yzma had given him this when he was little and if it was from her, he didn't want it anymore. Kuzco raced back up the stairs and out to the backyard.

"Someone there?" Chica called, but the creak of the swinging door was all that answered her.

Kuzco was breathing hard, staring at the valley down sprawled below the cliff he was on and imagining how Wompy would look bouncing and rolling until he was lost forever. That would teach Yzma! Though he didn't exactly know how. But it would prove he didn't need her or Wompy anymore, it would prove he wasn't a stupid little boy who needed to be kissed or tucked in or . . . or . . .

He raised his arm to hurl the toy. At the last second he looked at the bead eyes and wobbly smile etched on Wompy's face. After a long minute, Kuzco dropped his arm and hugged Wompy to his chest. He backed away from the cliff's edge and sat with his back to a wagon full of hay, losing the battle against his tears.

He hated this. He hated crying alone and he hated Mother's Day and having no mother. He was going to be Emperor and he was supposed to be above this kind of nonsense. Kuzco gasped and tried to force himself to at least remain quiet, but he failed even that. The best he could do was muffle the noises against Wompy's soft belly. A hand touched his shoulder then and he tensed, afraid it was Malina having caught up to him or worse, Guaca. No wait. Malina seeing him like this was definitely worse than Guaca.

"Kuzco," Chica murmured gently, "Come here." She sat down in the grass beside him and gathered the young man in her arms. Kuzco resisted a little but finally hid his face in her shoulder. "You're not having a very good day, are you?" she asked.

A sob escaped before he could choke it down. Kuzco shook his head, not wanting to humiliate himself further by trying to talk.

Chica didn't make him. She waited until she could feel his shaking subside, stroking Kuzco's back. "I felt bad this morning when you left. I wanted to talk to you."

"Me too," Kuzco managed, still hiding his face. "But you don't need me. You have Chaca and Yupi and Tipo."

"Yes, I do already have kids." Chica tilted his chin up to look at him. "_Four_ wonderful kids." She let Kuzco do the math and his eyes widened as she brushed his tears away with her thumb and kissed his forehead. Stunned and not knowing what to say, Kuzco rested against her, not protesting as she embraced him. A minute went by and his own arms returned the hug.

"I have to get you something. And write an essay-thingie," he muttered, when speaking no longer overwhelmed him.

"I can help you with the essay tonight," Chica promised. "Don't worry about the gift until next year. The stores around this time are going to be crazy enough."

"Okay, uh . . . Mom," Kuzco smiled when he said it, and Chica swept a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Ahem," came a nervous sounding voice, from behind a tree. Chica looked up and saw a purple feather poking out. She groaned as Yzma peered around it. "You two done?"

"Yes, Yzma. What is it?" Chica asked, getting to her feet. Kuzco got up as well, though he refused to look at his old advisor.

"I . . . well, I thought about it. What you said, Kuzco. And maybe you're right and we should . . ." Yzma's eyes fell on Wompy and softened. "I remember when I gave you that."

Kuzco hid the purple doll behind his back, feeling foolish. "So?"

"You said I was too bony to hug, so I made you Wompy to hug instead."

"And then you tried to kill me and take over the Empire," Kuzco snapped. Yzma went to him and Chica frowned, resisting the urge to take Kuzco inside and keep the old witch from touching him again.

"I - I'm sorry for what I said. There were a few good times along with the bad. And I do miss them. Kuzco, we will never be like we were before," Yzma said. She reached her hand up to touch Kuzco's face, thought better of it, and lowered her arm. "But I do agree that on Mother's Day I will declare a truce."

"Uh-huh," Kuzco said, flatly. He glanced at her this time, though.

"And . . . maybe you could take a lonely old woman to dinner afterwards?" she added hopefully.

"I guess dinner would be okay," Kuzco muttered, softening.

"And dessert?"

"Alright, dessert too. You're buying next year, though," Kuzco demanded.

"Fair enough. Well, hate to impose myself any longer. Maybe now Kronk will let me back in," Yzma muttered the last part to herself.

"What was that?" Chica asked, eyes narrowing further.

"Uh, well, I - I said 'maybe now Kronk's got the shark's fin.' To make my favorite soup." Yzma chuckled uneasily. Chica rolled her eyes.

"See you around then, Yzma," Kuzco said, smirking a little. Yzma patted his arm awkwardly and began picking her way down the hill. Kuzco watched after her, expression unreadable.

"Come on," Chica said, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Let's go in and have some lunch."

* * *

"So a Mother doesn't always have to be the same person who raised you. She could be the person who listens to you when you're having a bad day, or who sings to you when you're cryi - I mean, being upset in manly Emperor-like ways - on her shoulder," Kuzco said, flushing a little. He cleared his throat, and ignored the giggles coming from a few of the students.

"And even if she does nag at you to wash the dishes from time to time or to stop tying know-it-all Chaca's pigtails to the back of her chair, at least you know she's always around when you need her." He handed the parchment to Mr. Moleguaco who looked as though Kuzco had just handed him the key to the Empire's vault.

"Kuzco, that was . . . amazing! And it has enough errors in it that I know it was actually from you!"

"Ah, well, Chica helped."

"Fantastic. You get a B+."

"Whoo-hoo!" Kuzco did a small victory dance on the way back to his desk and nimbly jumped over Kavo's foot when the bigger boy tried to trip him. He leaned back in his chair so that his hair brushed across the desk behind his. "Hey, Malina!"

She smirked down at him. "Feeling better, I see."

"Oh, this is just my cheerful every day facade. I'm still hurting, you know. On the inside. Comfort me?" Kuzco attempted a sad puppy face.

"Uh-huh. Nice try."

Kuzco did not stop making his tragic face. "Kuzco, don't push it," Malina warned. She smiled however, looking at her scroll instead of him, absently twirling a finger in his hair.

- END


End file.
